


This City Hasn't Fallen Yet

by Gracefully



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paris - Freeform, Post-Crossroads, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracefully/pseuds/Gracefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of going to Aldbourne, Nixon accompanies Dick to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This City Hasn't Fallen Yet

**Author's Note:**

> so i started this on 4/12/15 and i lowkey feel like i ruined it but yolo haha

The office was stuffy and warm, causing Winters to shift uncomfortably in his tie and shirt. He felt a little like he was coming down with a cold; his skin didn’t fit right and normal, everyday sounds sounded loud and abrasive. Winters felt like his skin was too tight, too warm. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes in one place for more than a couple of seconds. They darted from Guarnere, to the desk, to the floor, and back again, before centering on Nixon.

Somehow, Nixon was a lot easier to look at than anything else in the stuffy office. He was steady and calm, and even with a full flask at his hip, Winters looked to him for security. In their years together, Nixon had become a constant in Winters’s life, even though they led very different lives.

Nixon, of course, noticed that the recent events had affected Winters far more than Winters was letting on. Remembering the October 5 attack had been painful, and Winters felt shaken past just a slight queasiness. He noticed his hand was trembling and joined his hands behind his back, willing them to steady.

Nixon gazed straight into Winters’s eyes, and a flicker in them recognized a fellow being in pain. In an instant, a decision was made. “Some time off would be good for you, Dick,” Nixon said, picking his jacket off of the back of the chair.

Winters felt, oddly, like the room was falling upwards and he was glued to the earth. Nixon talked on like everything was normal. “Spend the weekend in Paris, Dick, it’s a great city.” Winters felt like commenting on how he didn’t want to be alone in a foreign city for the weekend, and how he didn’t think he should be trusted to be alone, but he stayed quiet. Paris was, after all, a beautiful city.

Winters trailed after Nixon as they exited the building. The sky was moody and gray where it hovered, uncertain, over the horizon. Rain was forecasted for later in the day, but the sun shone brilliantly beyond, as if fighting to break through.

“So, I go to Paris.” Winters said, as if trying to convince himself that it would not, in fact, be miserable. “Where are you going?” he asked, trying to come off as nonchalant. In reality, it always threw off his rhythm to be away from Nixon for more than a couple of days.

“Undecided, but leaning towards Aldbourne.” Nixon said with a sly grin. Winters knew that Nixon had met a lady in Aldbourne, but he saw through Nixon’s grin. He knew that the two of them hadn’t talked or seen one another for almost five months.

“Then come with me,” Winters said, quickly, before he decided against it. Nixon looked surprised, but then the look fled and he nodded. Winters felt a small smile grace his face as Nixon tossed his cigarette aside and said,

“Okay,” The smoke curling from his lips was the same shade of gray as the fog above. Nixon looked at Dick for a long moment before he turned and gestured for Dick to follow him. “We’ll leave at 16 hundred, I’ll tell Strayer.” With that, he clapped Dick on the shoulder and left him alone in the middle of the field near command.

Dick stopped to look up at the sky and take a deep breath. His insides were still shaky, but he felt a lot better than he had five minutes before. The sensation of falling upward was beginning to lessen. Dick was beginning to come back to himself.

 

Dick met Nixon at the parking lot, where Nixon threw his duffel into the back of the jeep. He grinned at Dick. “I know you’re not one to drink,” he said as he climbed into the back seat. “But we are headed to the best place on earth for a glass of wine.”

Dick sat down next to Nixon, lacing his fingers together to keep from picking at his uniform. “Really? Even with this war on?”

The jeep jolted to a start. Nixon leaned closer to be heard over the roar of the engine. “Paris is and will always be somewhat immune to wars.” He got a wistful sort of look in his eyes, and it made Dick remember that he had attended Yale. “Paris will always hold their sense of sophistication over any national pride.”

“I hear the French wave more white flags than their own,” Dick quipped, straightening his jacket.

Nixon stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “What do you know!” he said. Dick sent him a small, pleased smile. It always made him happy when he made Nixon laugh. “So, you do have a sense of humor, and a subtle one at that,” Nixon said, clapping Dick on the shoulder. He smiled into his flask. The sound of his laugh caused some of the under-the-skin uneasiness to dissipate from Dick’s system.

 

Paris was a beautiful city. It was full of other soldiers on leave, and their banter and rude comments made Dick’s teeth grate. Nixon was the ideal travel companion for Dick. He, of course, knew French, and was able to order their food and drinks in a perfect accent and a smile. Dick wished he could be like that. He loved listening to Nixon speak French, he loved the way Nixon pronounced the foreign sounds. Nixon made them sound elegant and sophisticated. Whenever Dick tried to pronounce them, they just sounded awkward and uncertain.

They both got coffee, and Dick tried not to think about how bad the stuff back at the base was compared to authentic Parisian coffee. Nixon sipped from his flask but ate a little here and there. He insisted on taking Dick to all of the city’s most ancient monuments. Nixon knew the history of each and he pointed out little things to Dick as they made their way across the city.

They ended up watching the sunset from the top of the Eiffel tower. Dick leaned against the railing. Nixon’s arm brushed his as he leaned against the railing as well. “Chicago is awfully far away, Lew.” Dick said quietly. He didn’t want to hear what Nixon would say to that.

“Are you turning down my offer?” Nixon sounded hurt.

“No, of course not.” Dick said, turning a little to face Nixon. “I just sometimes forget that we’re still fighting this war and that we could very easily die soon.” Nixon made a noncommittal noise.

“I never likened you to be a pessimist, Dick.” He said.

“I’m not,” Dick answered simply. “I still think that it’s possible to survive and Chicago is still very much a possibility.” Dick caught Nixon’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, if there was a play on then I would take you to see it, but alas, there is not.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to make do,” Dick said.

 

As the sun disappeared and the stars began to twinkle overhead, Dick and Nixon boarded the train to take them back to their hotel. There was an old woman knitting near the front of the car. Dick slid into the seat first, and Nixon slid in after him. The car lurched to a start. Dick gazed out the window, as flashes of light cast the train in and out of darkness.

Flash. Thunder. Flash. The young boy’s face, seeing Dick for the first time. He is smiling because he is hopeful, because he thinks that Dick is his backup. He is barely seventeen. His smile fades as he realizes, but then there’s a bullet in his head and Dick is already moving onto the next one. Flash. Gunfire. Flash. All Germans look alike. So do all Americans. All soldiers blur together. Dick is afraid that Nixon is among the dozens of men that are falling before him. Flash. He only glances behind him once. He sees the pink smoke, he sees his men charging forward. He does not see their faces. Flash.

Dick gripped the back of the seat in front of him, jaw clenched and breath stagnant within in his chest. Nixon noticed immediately. “Dick, are you okay?” he laid a hand on Dick’s arm, shaking him. Dick couldn’t move, he couldn’t look at Nixon. He could still see that young officer’s face…

"Dick, look at me." Nix commanded, slipping his hand into Winters' and twining their fingers together tightly. With difficulty, Winters blinked. He tore his gaze from in front of him, until he could see Nixon’s eyes. But then he saw the eyes of the kid he had killed, and he couldn’t see Nixon anymore.

“I can’t stop seeing him,” Dick spat out through his teeth. Nixon’s hand was so tight on Dick’s, Dick thought that his fingers might fall off. “The young German soldier I killed at the crossroads.” He shut his eyes, willing the images to go away.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Nixon said. He sounded worried. Worried and scared. Dick tried to take a deep breath, but then he felt like he was drowning, and then he couldn’t get enough air at all.

“Look at me.” Nixon commanded, guiding Dick’s face to look at him. His eyes were steady and soothing. When the light hit them, Dick could see tiny flecks of amber within them. Nixon’s hands were warm. Dick stared at Nixon like it was the only thing he could do. He kept the images of the soldier at bay, even as they attacked his mind with more and more velocity. Nixon ran his thumb across Dick’s cheekbone. The flashes stopped as the train slowed to a stop.

Dick was finally able to blink. He was able to pull his hand away from Nixon and run them over his face. Nixon rubbed a calming hand into his shoulder blade and didn’t ask any questions until they got to their hotel. On the walk there, Dick was in a daze. He was fatigued in a way that he didn’t expect, and he felt like he had been crying for hours. Nixon sent him concerned looks as they walked side by side.

“Dick, back on the train…” Nixon laid his duffel bag on the bed. “What was that?”

Dick collapsed onto his bed. “I don’t know...I just--” He paused to swallow against the tears that threatened to make themselves known. “I was on the train, I was present, and then suddenly I was back at that crossroads, and I saw the kid I shot.” Nixon was silent, but he crossed the room to sit on the edge of Dick’s bed. Dick pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, long enough to see stars dancing across the inside of his eyelids. When he opened them, Nixon was gazing down at him with an unreadable expression.

Nixon rose and exited Dick’s sight. Dick could hear the water in the bathroom running. Nixon came back in and pulled Dick up until he was sitting. Nixon knelt and pulled off Dick’s shoes. He pulled off his socks and began unbuttoning Dick’s shirt. Dick, who was generally fairly conservative when it came to undressing (considering he was in the army) was surprisingly okay when it was just Nixon and him. Nixon was gentle and moved slow enough for Dick to stop him if he got uncomfortable.

Dick’s chest was bare to the world as Nixon pushed off his shirt. Dick’s dog tags made light clinking noises as they hit one another. Dick kept his mind blank as Nixon unbuttoned Dick’s pants. Nixon pulled him up by the elbows and effectively pulled off Dick’s pants. He left Dick’s underwear on, which Dick was grateful for. He was still capable of some things, after all. Nixon led him into the bathroom, where the tub was still filling with hot water. Dick unceremoniously dropped his underwear and stepped into the steaming water. His skin immediately erupted into goosebumps, and Dick couldn’t help shivering as the water filled around him. Nixon gave Dick his privacy, moving off to the bedroom to put Dick’s clothes away.

Dick leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the water wash over his bare body. His mind was carefully blank, devoid of anything that would make him remember October 5th too strongly. Dick knew that the events of that night would forever be etched into his memory, and he would just have to learn how to deal with it. Dick knew he needed to be strong for the men. He knew that they were headed some place much, much worse, and that if their leader was a wreck, it wouldn’t be long before the men broke too. Dick had to keep up appearances, at least.

But then, in a tiny hotel room in Paris, Dick fully allowed himself to be vulnerable. Nixon moved back into the room and shut off the water. He rolled up his sleeves and sat next to the tub and washed Dick’s hair. He ran a calming hand over Dick’s arm, he put a couple drops of lavender scent into the water for Dick. Nixon’s tenderness almost moved Dick to tears, so unaccustomed to his gentleness Dick was. Dick had never seen Nixon be so gentle and caring with anyone before. A new, soft look had entered Nixon’s face. Dick had seen it before, in the nights when they dug their foxhole together and spent the night curled into one another. He had seen it over breakfast at Toccoa, before they were on their feet and moving. Dick had never seen Nixon look at anyone else like that.

As Nixon’s fingers, soft for a soldier, massaged his scalp, Dick realized why Nixon was actually probably a good father. Nixon, through all of his rough edges, was a caring person, and the people he cared about were better off than the ones he didn’t care about. Nixon was willing to go to very different lengths for the people he cared about versus the people he didn’t care about. And Dick was very glad to be one of the few people that Nixon truly cared for.

Dick’s eyes slipped closed as Nixon carefully washed his hair. What with the lavender and the warm water and Nixon taking care of him, Dick was finally feeling relaxed. The events at the crossroads seemed so far away. Eventually, Nixon simply sat rubbing Dick’s shoulders, trying to loosen some of the knots that long hours behind a desk created. The water cooled and Dick, almost asleep, decided it was time to get out.

He stood and Nixon was immediately by his side with a towel, rubbing him down. Dick’s wet skin was exposed to the air and he shivered. Nixon draped the towel around his shoulders and led Dick to the bedroom. He helped Dick get dressed into boxers and a soft shirt. Dick and Nixon lay facing one another on the bed. Nixon’s face was very close and he was very warm and Dick had had enough of denying himself comforts. He leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to Nixon’s lips, before wrapping his arms around Nixon’s chest and burrowing his head into the hollow between Nixon’s neck and his chest.

Nixon held Dick tight in his arms, and the two drifted off to the sounds of other soldiers celebrating their night of in the City of Lights. And in the morning, Dick knew what they had couldn’t be at the forefront of their minds. Survival was too important. But he and Nixon did share a kiss before leaving their hotel room, almost as a promise for what was to come.


End file.
